


Crystal

by LyneOfMidgard



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Adult Sarah Williams (Labyrinth)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 01:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30115077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyneOfMidgard/pseuds/LyneOfMidgard
Summary: It's been just over four years since Sarah returned victoriously from the Labyrinth. Toby has since gained a younger sister, Crystal, but when he invokes the words to summon the Goblin King, he must learn what it is to be an older brother before it's too late. Sarah must rebeat the impossible Labyrinth before the thirteenth hour in the company of Toby, before she loses them both.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Crystal

“I, uh, didn’t expect you.” The blonde across the desk stuttered, standing so rushedly as she did that her skirt bumped against the cluttered furniture, knick-knacks rattling noisily across the surface in a cascade of momentum. A noisy cacophony that ended with the knocking over of a travel cup onto a pile of meticulously graded papers. The smell of old coffee filling the air as the fair skinned woman hissed under flustered breath and striking like a cornered snake to remove the damaging culprit before more than a drop or two worth’s of damage was applied. An immediate reaction which implied a sort of care that her next abruptly shoved aside as hard as she forced all the rest of the papers and things to one side of the desk, turned, and explicitly set not to look at it.

The unexpected one had green eyes, which flickered thoughtful and fast across the room. Considering a great many things at every pass. She noticed the bright artwork that spun with the slight breeze of life, hanging high from braided cords thumbtacked to a high ceiling. Meticulous moments of imagination and creativity personified in this hard moment of memory. There were single paragraph stories that had been stapled with perfectly aligned pride, framing the classroom board as they told of such detailed, wonderous things, that one might wonder if snowmen truly did attend a second grader’s family camping trip in Arizona.

Her classroom would not look like this, the unforeseen brunette decided just as sternly as she tucked the rogue lock back into polished place behind her ear; And not just because she would _not_ be teaching second graders. “You set the appointment.” She reminded factually and having selected a reasonably plain student’s chair, turned the tiny thing sideways and sat on it. The manufactory worn grooves already aching through her jeans. Despite the discomfort, the ‘surprising’ guest took the moment to straighten her forgettable shirt for an idle moment before green eyes flickered upwards to the clock. It ticked painfully slow.

She hoped that this wouldn’t take very long.

“I take full responsibility, Mrs. Williams.” The teacher said and for how fast the line came, and the little care that it took to create it, it sounded well-rehearsed. The kind of well-rehearsed that only came from a starring role in front of an already displeased audience. One, perhaps, already armed with apples or tomatoes for throwing. “It’s just—” She smiled in a less rehearsed, sheepish way. “You’ve neglected to appear for any of the other meetings that we had scheduled throughout the year, Irene. But, again, I apologize. Now, I scheduled this meeting because I wished to--”

“Sarah.” Lips quirked slightly upwards, in the sort of smile which was cynical and derisive and not at all un-rehearsed. “I think you’ll be wishing for a while. Irene’s not the best at APPEARING.” _Not the best at anything, reall_ y, Sarah thought, but kept that to herself, holding the sour sentiment dear for a moment before her features softened somewhat. Sentimental. “I’m Toby’s sister.” She paused. “Half-sister.” Sarah added and the sentimentality was gone.

“Oh, I—I see..” The teacher flustered like an actor who forgot her lines and suddenly found herself afraid of the spotlight she knew well before, anxiously looking to fidget with a thing on her desk. Anything. It was visible when her blue eyes remembered how said items had been banished a short distance, leaving her square of immediate desk proper and barren. Her fingers twitched, restlessly unmet. “Will you be taking responsibility for his academics going forward then?”

“I can’t.” Sarah answered, “I’m just here for the summer. My college lets out for summer a few months before most other schools. I’m only here until fall semester starts, then I’m finishing my last year of college. I’m studying for my Bachelor’s in Education.”

“Your school isn’t—”

“Close? No.”

Intent caught, the blonde winced and looked profoundly again for _something_ to fidget. As she did, Sarah glanced to her name tag. Miss Hartley. Somehow, Sarah thought it fit. Miss Hartley spoke again after letting the disappointed air hang densely for a minute longer. “I see.. That’s unfortunate, Toby needs someone in his corner right now. But.. _If it can’t be helped_ , then..” Hartley left the sentence open. Sarah didn’t fill it. “Well,” The shunned blonde cleared her throat, “I wanted to discuss Toby’s areas of concern. Now, don’t get me wrong. He’s a good student. He studies well and gets along with most of the other students. But there have been a few areas of concern, the first is from the P.E. teacher. The students had a BMI check last week.. Toby’s a bit small for his age. I would consider it a strong focus. I know kids can be a bit picky about this age, but if his diet can be tailored for his nutrition, I think it would help to avoid further incidents.”

Sarah blinked twice. “Incidents?”

“It’s another matter that I’d like to bring to your attention. First, though,” Sarah snuck a glance to the clock as Hartley bumbled about her own dialogue. Sarah wondered, idly, if this could have been comprised to an email.. She could have read all the information in neat little bullet points by now and be rid of the unnatural sense that her heart was in her stomach. Toby was-- “His vocabulary is a bit underdeveloped for his age. I think some exercises would help him to expand it and have fun applying those new words accurately. Here—This..” Hartley opened a drawer, which was filled of all the things in the world, with thumb tacks. An insurmountable number. Like they were the ramen noodles of education. A book with pastel colors _bold_ across the cover was plucked from the prickly depths. “This has some good exercises. You can keep it,” Hartley graciously decided, as if _everyone_ had asked for this copy and it was only in her decision to set it on the desk for Sarah herself to take. “I’d like for it to get some use.”

Sarah looked at the book before her. **‘Your child and You: Vivacious Vocabulary Edition!’** She was not tempted whatsoever to read the other editions. Even less so to see the petite little housewife on the cover overtop the splashes of gaudy brightness, a baby on her hip and a bold ‘I would never abandon you for a new boyfriend!’ smile etched across face.

“Thank you.” Sarah said, because that’s what adults said to other adults. And she was an adult. Never mind the matriarch issues. “You mentioned something else?” Sarah insisted.

It looked as though this was the part Hartley had dreaded the most, her face practically bracing for the boos of the displeased audience. “There was an.. _Incident_ that came up recently. Toby’s been displaying some very unethical behavior. He stole child’s lunchbox. Obviously, I can’t have that in my class. I asked him to apologize, he refused, and said that goblins did it, not him.”

“Goblins?” Sarah felt the tenseness in her shoulders and the vulnerability of her chest lessen. Sure, there were still other areas of sincere concern, but _this_ was the subject of foreshadowing? Of _greatest_ build up? A laugh bubbled up within her and unfettered, it rolled across the classroom loud, “ _Goblins?_ Like the—What, I don’t even know a story with goblins in it!” Sarah realized and laughed even harder, “Of all the mythical little creatures to blame—Haha!”

“I’m afraid it’s serious, Sarah.” Hartley offered only slightly in volume over the glibness, “I don’t want to have to add this to his record, but I’m _required to_ if I’m unable to resolve it.”

“Add?” Sarah noticed, the humor frozen on her smile in disbelief, “He’s already _got_ a record? He’s only in the second grade!”

“ _I did say_ that I tried to make appointments previously.. It’s school policy, you understand.” Another rehearsed, tomato anticipated line—As though anyone could ever understand a record on a second grader. “You could talk to your mother regarding her availability going forward—”

“She’s not my mother,” Was the sharp reply, “But.. Look, can we just—He’s only in the second grade. He’s only JUST turned seven. I’ll talk to him about it. I’ll resolve it, I promise. Could we just keep _this_ incident off his..” Sarah realized that in the clutter of the desk, there was a folder which had TOBY WILLIAMS scrawled on its tab. It was thick. Sarah swallowed, “Look, I’ll make sure it never happens again.”

“Yes, that’ll work.” Hartley nodded, “I’m glad to hear someone will be trying to handle it-- But really, what Toby needs is someone in his corner. Not just for the summer.” Expectations hung in the air, as if Sarah were to fill it. But she wasn’t entirely sure how to. She couldn’t play _mommy_ in Irene’s stead. She didn’t have the time between college and her part time work—And what would she do after she graduated? Besides, _tons_ of people grew up without their mothers. They grew up fine. “Toby was looking for someone in the audience during the school play last week. He forgot his lines when he was trying to find one, I know it affects him. It affects any child. Is there _any way_ to get Irene to take responsibility for Toby’s academics?”

“I—I’m sorry, she just doesn’t listen to me.”

Hartley sighed, “I hope Toby does.”

. . . . .

The darkness swallowed the huddled, fear shivering form in the same hungry, malicious way that a nightmare did. But there was no blanket to hide under in here. No stolen stories and a flashlight to pretend that the words read echoed through his head louder than the lingering voice that pursued through the hall with strict, furious steps. “He’s taken from the kitchen _again_. I had a dinner planned! He’s worse than his sister! Robert! Aren’t you going to do something?! ROBERT!”

A distinct and not very distant “Mhmm.” Sounded agreeably in simple return, though, it reverberated strangely as it was heard. Echoing off the walls and shifting to sound as if there were a dozen horrible little voices, once human, now no longer so, speaking rasp and wickedly instead.

Speaking differently.

Speaking from right behind--!

The ground shook with sprinting footsteps, fast and thunderous with violent purpose, approaching fast and shaking the floor with the strict weight of approaching punishment. Toby drove himself back further into his hiding place with scrambling heels of his own, forgetting the voices altogether as the closet door pulled open hard and furious, bright light flooding the secret place. Strong enough to blind, and covering his face, Toby turned from it. Only noticing now that the corner of his sleeve had been taken somewhat into the wall.

As if something had almost pulled him through the plaster.

. . . . .

“Closet camping, huh?” Sarah teased, smiling from the doorway for a moment, until Toby turned his face from its hiding place, and to see just what huddled state her sibling was in, with a face of the color of bleached paper, Sarah’s features fell to deep concern. “Hey, Toby Jingles, what’s got you so scared?”

“I thought you were Mom.” The blonde boy muttered, giving the wall a suspicious look before turning blue eyes back to Sarah. She saw tears in the corners of them.

“Gee thanks dude,” Sarah gave a cynical smile, leaning forward to glance about the closet space. It was full in the way that a childhood closet usually was, a thousand little knick-knacks pushed into corners where, feasibly, there should be no more room to allow it. But there was room enough for her to--

_THWACK!!_

Well, Sarah thought as she rubbed the sore spot on her forehead, maybe not.. Though, she couldn’t see herself so gladly smashing the front of the skull on the closet shelf for any other reason than for Toby. Even if it _was_ hard enough that little toys fell onto her as she found a space to sit beside the frightened boy, her knees nearly to her chest and back twisting in an unnatural way. Toby had no such size problem and after drying his face on his shirt, found it very easy to rest his head on Sarah’s slouching shoulder. His head smelled the same as when he was a baby. Absently, Sarah stroked her fingers lightly through the blonde hair of his, pushing the closet door shut with her offhand, and in the gloom of the dark, Sarah let her calm attention wander. This was a toy she recognized, a little Raggedy Anne, what HAD Sarah named her? Something grand. A starring role in a story or two, even.

What a far cry it was to be from her treasure shelf to the dark of this closet. Still, it was better than being sold to strangers in the garage sale. Irene did that with all the ‘girlie’ things that Sarah had left behind when she had accepted her dorm room. Which meant that Toby must have bought it back with his pocket change.

Sarah looked around the closet again.

Lancelot must have been too expensive. That had been his favorite toy.

Sarah was reluctant to let the peaceful moment pass, but eventually, it simply had to. Carefully, she shifted the boy on her shoulder slightly, straightening his Dino T-shirt as she did. Toby didn’t like dinosaurs anymore. “So, you stole a lunchbox?”

“I was hungry..” Toby admitted shamefully. As though it was something he should be ashamed for. Not his parents. Well, parent. Irene wasn’t a mother to anyone, really.

Sarah’s heart ached and for a long moment, it was all that Sarah could do to breathe, to wonder how exactly things had gone this far. She felt that, by now, _someone_ would have stepped in. Someone such authority that it was all _anyone_ could do to simply nod, agree, and take every advised action. Even ones such radical as allowing a boy to eat when he was hungry. “I’m sorry Toby Jingles, but you..” Sarah winced, God, she hated it. “You just _can’t steal._ But, look, I’m going to pack your lunch while I’m here. Just—”

“What about when you leave again?” Toby interrupted and a long, uneasy silence filled the space. Sarah didn’t know how to fill it.

“So, you..” Sarah tried thinly, “You blamed goblins?” Her attempt to lighten the heavy air seemed only to backfire, because with a start Toby braced forwards, eyes bright with passion, “It’s TRUE!” He belted loud enough for the neighbors to have heard, dysfunctional parents be damned, “I saw one! I wished I had some lunch and I saw one! It was this high and—”

The closet door shook. Scratched.

Insistent. Expecting.

Accompanied by a meow.

“Hi Morgan.” Sarah let out a held breath, pulling open the closet door slightly so, allowing the black cat with his white socks and belly to enter. Who graciously glared at them both for keeping his majesty waiting, entered the secret cove too, and choosing his perch to be one of study—Sat atop the toppled stack of adventure books behind Toby. Despite the belligerent regality, a reverberating purr contently shook the air not long after. “Toby, that’s just.. It’s just fairy tales.” Sarah reminded gently as she closed the closet again, voice low and words careful, “Goblins are _stories_. They’re just made up. Like the Elf and the Shoemaker. Like Cinderella. Like these adventure books. They’re only stories. Toby, you’re seven now. It’s time to grow up and stop believing stories.”

The tears that welled up in Toby’s eyes now were worse than before, Sarah thought, because she caused them. No wicked stepmother here. Just Sarah. “You used to tell me stories all the time!” Toby hiccupped, red face wearing betrayal with heartbreaking completion.

“I know, I know.” Sarah soothed, “But, I mean, it’s better to leave that to the professionals, they’re so much better than I ever was.” Sarah remembered WELL just how ‘good’ she had been, standing over Toby’s crib while he practiced his standing, reciting little plays and ridiculous pieces of cliché clips and grammar riddled hand written chapters. She couldn’t suppress the shudder. “I could take you to the movies..” Sarah bribed instead, “There’s a new one out about a little fairy creature and—”

Of all things, _this_ was what put him over the top. And with a short “You said they were nasty little things!” Toby cried, gasped, and cried again.

“Did I?” Sarah stuttered, wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t make the situation _worse,_ outreached her arms to hold him close in comfort instead. It had worked before and—He pushed her away. “You’re right, you’re right. Fairies are terrible little things.” Sarah agreed, although she couldn’t remember which precise story THAT drivel came from, hoped this was the right thing to say.

It wasn’t. “You didn’t remember?” Toby asked, screamed, in miserable hysterics.

“No,” Sarah said too fast, too eager to answer to catch herself. “It was just a stupid story.”

Only AFTER Toby stomped over her, screamed “I wish you remembered it!” and slammed the closet door after tantruming steps did Sarah realize that her wording sounded more that all stories were stupid. And not that she, herself, had once been a stupid storyteller. Capable of only equally stupid stories. She still was, apparently, Sarah would strike her forehead with her fist if it didn’t already have a bruise developing there. Instead, she cursed herself, shook her head and stood.

_THWACK!!_

_That_ was worse than it was the first time and when her swaying double vision had ebbed enough, Sarah found herself to have braced against the closet walls to remain standing. Accusatory, Sarah glared to the closet floor in her quest for the culprit.

There was a ball on the ground, glass. It must have fallen from the shelf and onto her head when she stood—And firmly, Sarah took it from its landing place. Setting it hard right back where it must have come from, as if this extra amount of pressure between her fingers would relay to the inanimate object just how much that had _hurt_ and it was a _bad object_ for falling on her as it had. It might fall again, Sarah thought, it seemed the mischievous enough type for it. Carefully, she slid the closet door shut, evenly and smooth. The act far more calm and patient than the restless hands which performed it.

The clatter of falling things filled the room from behind the door, ringing loud and long, the violence rambling against the plywood beneath Sarah's palm.

_As the world falls down._

Sarah thought derisively and left.

**Author's Note:**

> Like the story? Tell me so with a comment! Nothing motivates an author more!


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